


Inebriated

by DarlaBlack



Series: Ficlets & Prompt Responses [7]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Humor, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlaBlack/pseuds/DarlaBlack
Summary: Mulder has a bit too much.





	Inebriated

He doesn’t do it often, and there’s a reason. There’s a reason, but he can’t think what it is. “Scully,” he mumbles into his hands, though she isn’t near him. He’s at a… bar. He wishes Scully were here. Her name is like a mantra, a stabilizing charm, so he says it again. Where is she? He pulls out his phone and looks at the little plastic screen. He knows how to use this thing. He does. He presses down the 1.

She answers on the third ring, slurred and sleepy. “H’lo?”

“Scully, where are you?”

A pause. “Mulder, are you drunk?”

“Oh.” He looks through the dim light at the amber bottles, notices the blur of his own fingers on the copper of the bar-top, reaches through the haze of his garbled perception. “Yes,” he says.

There’s a deep breath on the other end of the line, then the sound of bedding rustling. “Why are you drunk, Mulder?”

He tries to remember. Across the room, someone drops a glass and it smashes. The sound echoes like a low warble in his ear, a kind of  _whomp_  of returning sound, and while he doesn’t remember why he’s drunk, he begins to remember why he doesn’t do this often.“I dunno,” he says.

“Where are you?”

He looks around, but the place isn’t quite familiar. He raises a finger to the bartender, holds the phone close against his chest. “Uh,” he says. “Where am I?”

The bartender is neither amused nor surprised. “AJ’s,” he says, nonchalant.

Mulder thanks him and turns back to his phone. “It would appear this establishment is called AJ’s.”

Another sigh, and he can hear that she is getting dressed. “Mulder.” Disappointment. “That’s all the way down H Street.”

He grunts—it is meant as some kind of apology.

“Do you have your car there?”

He thinks. “That, I cannot tell you.”

“Goddamnit,” he hears her mumble. “Okay, please stay there. Don’t drive. I’ll come to get you.”

—

He wakes up on her couch, some time after 3 a.m., and the room is still spinning. He loses some bar food (fries? wings?) to the porcelain gods, and is grateful for the water and aspirin Scully has set out for him. He doesn’t remember how she took care of him, but eventually, he remembers why he was at the bar. That prick Donaldson in BSU, waving around photos of his newborn and asking if Mulder had any kids. Asking if Scully did. Stupid fuck.

On reconsideration, he doesn’t think the guy  _meant_  to be an asshole. On third consideration, he thinks maybe that  _he_  was the asshole, drinking himself to stupidity while Scully was the one who probably felt bad. Shit.

“Fuuuck,” he groans into his palms. He downs the rest of the water and stumbles in the dark to the open bedroom doorway. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he mumbles in the direction of her bed.

He hears her sigh from the bed and knows she isn’t sleeping. HIs eyes adjust to the dim light in time to see her pull the covers aside, making a space for him. “Did you throw up?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you drink that water?”

“Yeah.” He shuffles over and lowers himself carefully into the space, facing away from her. He’s surprised when he feels her hand on his shoulder.

“You okay now?”

“Mmm. Maybe.”

Her arm comes around him fully, and her chin tucks over his bicep. “Was it because of Donaldson?”

Affirmative grunt.

She gives him a squeeze. “It’s all right.”

“‘m sorry Scully.”

Just briefly, he feels her lips at the back of his shoulder, and then she turns back to her side. “Just get some sleep,” she says.

So he does.


End file.
